" *20 Pizarro saw that the hour had come. He waved a white
scarf in the air, the appointed signal. The fatal gun was fired
from the fortress. Then, springing into the square, the Spanish
captain and his followers shouted the old war-cry of "St. Jago
and at them." It was answered by the battle-cry of every Spaniard
in the city, as, rushing from the avenues of the great halls in
which they were concealed, they poured into the plaza, horse and
foot, each in his own dark column, and threw themselves into the
midst of the Indian crowd. The latter, taken by surprise, stunned
by the report of artillery and muskets, the echoes of which
reverberated like thunder from the surrounding buildings, and
blinded by the smoke which rolled in sulphurous volumes along the
square, were seized with a panic. They knew not whither to fly
for refuge from the coming ruin Nobles and commoners, - all were
trampled down under the fierce charge of the cavalry, who dealt
their blows, right and left, without sparing; while their swords,
flashing through the thick gloom, carried dismay into the hearts
of the wretched natives, who now, for the first time, saw the
horse and his rider in all their terrors. They made no
resistance, - as, indeed, they had no weapons with which to make
it. Every avenue to escape was closed, for the entrance to the
square was choked up with the dead bodies of men who had perished
in vain efforts to fly; and, such was the agony of the survivors
under the terrible pressure of their assailants, that a large
body of Indians, by their convulsive struggles, burst through the
wall of stone and dried clay which formed part of the boundary of
the plaza! It fell, leaving an opening of more than a hundred
paces, through which multitudes now found their way into the
country, still hotly pursued by the cavalry, who, leaping the
fallen rubbish, hung on the rear of the fugitives, striking them
down in all directions.
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